Holding On to Stars
by beingmargoroth
Summary: Neal has an idea that could help Quinn get what she wants... Kind of Coopinn but not really.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I got this idea a while ago, whilst visiting the V+A in London. While writing it, it kind of linked itself to another White Collar fic idea I've had. I might go with it an make this multi-chaptered or leave it like this... depends what people think. Anyway, ENJOY!**

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Quinn wasn't entirely sure why Neal had taken her to the Museum of Modern Art.

She'd known him roughly a month now and, in all that time, Neal Caffrey – "reformed" criminal and FBI consultant in New York's White Collar division – had never given the impression he was one to take a witness out for a simple trip to an art gallery. Even if she was an art student.

"Having fun?" he asked, bumping his elbow with hers and setting her off balance for a moment, caught unaware.

"Hmmm," she replied, too busy looking at the Exquisite Corpses exhibition.

At her lack of reply, Quinn saw Neal sober up, the smile slipping from his face as he stood up straight. He dug his hands in his trouser pockets, bending his head back so he could look at the drawing Quinn was studying. For a moment, they both stood in silence. This was what she liked so much about Neal; unlike everyone else back in the office, Neal appreciated art and was able to have conversations about the subject with her at anytime, anywhere. To be honest, she supposed an art forgery had to appreciate art or there was no other way for them to really copy a painting. At least, that was what Quinn had found during her brief stint as a fine art student at the New York Academy of Art.

Honestly, Quinn wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up there. All her life, she'd been interested in art, but not enough to follow it for a career. In fact, she'd been all set to head to Yale on their drama course. But after her accident… Something had happened. Something had changed and instead of accepting her place at Yale after graduation, Quinn had taken the place at a college she'd applied to on a whim.

Her parents hadn't liked this, and thus refused to fund the course. For a few months, Quinn had been okay. She'd managed to have saved enough during high school to pay for studio and material costs – not to mention her rent and food – for a few months. She also managed to get herself a job as a barmaid, which helped tide her over. But after a while, the long nights began affecting her school work; she was tired all the time and didn't have enough time to focus on her assignments. Bit by bit, she fell behind until she only had two choices: to quit school and focus on work, or to quit work and focus on school?

The night it happened, Quinn thought she'd made a choice. As she walked back to her dorm at 3am, her coat wrapped tightly around her to keep the December chill out, her mind was set on what she'd do the next day, to get her life back on track. Of course, she never managed to. As soon as the FBI found out she'd been a witness to a gang murder, they instantly moved her away from NYAA and put her in a safe house. Quinn was unable to go to work, or school or anywhere unless she was accompanied by someone.

That was how Neal had taken her under her wing, looking out for her both at the office (which had become a second home to her, as she helped them) and at his flat which he'd insisted be her safe house. While there wasn't really anyone she needed protecting from at the office (apart from FBI Agent Peter Burke and his taxing enquiries), Neal's friend Mozzie often liked to probe Quinn, asking about her life in Ohio before she moved to New York. He called it background searching, while Quinn called it nosey. Neal would laugh when she told him this, but she could tell that he secretly thought the same too. Maybe that was why he'd taken her for a day trip to a popular New York art museum? Somehow, Quinn highly doubted it.

"I don't get these," Neal admitted after a long moment, pulling a face as he turned to her. "I never really saw the appeal of surreal art."

"Me neither," she agreed, "but I like these. They're not really surreal. It's a drawing game. 'Exquisite Corpses'. It's chance-based, while surrealism uses the images for a reason."

"I forgot I was in the presence of an art student," he muttered, before grabbing Quinn's hand. "Come on."

Confused, she let him drag her away – although she did take on last look at Steve Gianakos' _She Could Hardly Wait_ before paying attention to where he was taking her. With her hand in his, Neal led her through the exhibition before coming out into a less crowded room. In fact, it was empty. The first few moments of peace she'd had since they'd left the flat that morning. According to her watch, it was now closing in to 1pm. They'd been on their feet since 9am. Suddenly, Quinn realised how tired she was and was relieved when he let her sit on the bench in the middle of the room, Neal collapsing beside her a moment later.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Quinn was pretty sure they were both just soaking up the silence of the room, enjoying it while it lasted. After taking a few deep breathes, she raised her head and looked around, admiring the landscape paintings as she swung her feet, hoping to ease some of the pain she was feeling in them from walking.

"Now, Van Gogh I get."

Quinn turned at the sound of Neal's voice, frowning. He saw and nodded across the room, towards a painting hanging on the wall in front of them. When she saw it, she wasn't sure why she hadn't noticed it before. Not only because it was one of the artist's most famous pieces, but also because the blue palette of the painting stood out against the greens of the other landscapes.

"It was all about mark making for him," she agreed.

"Plus he always seized an opportunity," Neal added. "Just like you should."

She frowned, confused – although she presumed this was the reason for the trip. "Neal, I don't – "

"Just hear me out," he told her and, with a sigh, Quinn fell silent so he could continue with whatever he wanted to say. "You're an art student, Q – well, was. And from the work I've seen that you've done for your course, and the odd things you've been doing recently, you're damn good at it. After this whole mess is sorted out, I really think you should go back to school."

Despite herself, Quinn laughed. "Even if it was possible for me to catch-up, I've got no money, Neal."

"I'm aware of that, and I'm aware of a way to get you some."

Knowing full well she was sat beside a conman, she couldn't stop herself giving into curiosity and asking, "How?"

A look of excitement flashed in his eyes before Neal declared, "You have to swear that you're in, no matter what, okay? You have to do that before I tell you. Or else you might back out and we can't have a rogue person who knows the plan."

"_Neal_," Quinn warned, just wanting to know.

"Swear first."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. I'm in. What do I have to do?"

With a little smirk, Neal nodded towards the Van Gogh painting.

Quinn frowned. "What?"

He was silent for a moment, before realising she hadn't worked it out and sighing as he leant forwards, his breath hot on her ear as he whispered, "We're going to steal _The Starry Night_."

"WHAT?"

Neal grabbed her as she leant back, fast, in shock, pulling her back close so he could continue murmuring to her and only her, "Relax. The museum will get it back."

"Neal, I'm not – "

"Don't think of it as stealing; more… borrowing."

At this, Quinn frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

Neal released a breath, as if thankful he'd managed to calm her down before admitting, "I know people who want to buy the painting. So we're going to take the painting so you can forge it for them. Then we'll return the painting, saying we found it god knows where – we'll think of that later – and claim the reward money."

She bit her lip, sitting back as she thought about it. Of course, the idea was stupid but Neal had not only done this trick before – he'd gotten away scott-free after doing it. He knew what he was doing, but there was always the risk… But right now, considering the state of her life, did the risk outweigh the benefits?

Finally, Quinn took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter whether I want to do this or not, does it? I agreed so now I have to, right?"

"It's either that, or face being in the awkward position of knowing but not knowing," he told her, pulling out an apple from her bag before smirking. "It's a cruel world, Q."

"Tell me about it," she muttered, not fully aware of what she'd let herself into.

One thing she did know, though: with Neal by her side, there was little that could get to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn would never forget the moment her life turned upside down.

She knew that people often said they'd "never forget the moment" blah, blah, blah, but she meant it. I mean, if you'd been just a broke art student with too many things to do one night, and then a witness in a murder enquiry the next, you'd remember too. In fact, it changed over a couple of hours, although Quinn couldn't pinpoint when. Everything that happened that night was muddled, events merging with each other every single time she was asked to recount them. And that was pretty much every day. Agent Burke was insistent he squeezed every last detail from her, so much so that Quinn literally felt like she'd been squeezed.

Being at the safe house didn't give her much more joy. Burke – who insisted she called him Peter even though Quinn didn't feel she wanted to be that friendly with the FBI – would only let her help with the enquiry by questioning her. So after the first week of either being squeezed or hanging around in everyone's way, she began staying at the house when Neal left for work. Occasionally, Mozzie would pop in and she'd endure more questions but often, she was alone with nothing to do. It was odd, having spent the last few months fighting to make every minute count. Quinn didn't know what to do with herself. She drew, trying to remember the shrouded faces she'd seen that night. She read, trying to forget the shrouded faces she'd seen that night. After a fortnight, she'd run out of paper and books.

That was when Neal had taken her to MoMA and changed everything. Again.

"Still thinking about it?" he asked, looking up from the wine bottle he was opening for an impatient Mozzie.

"Yeah," Quinn admitted, pulling a face as she looked at the doodle she'd just drawn mechanically. "I mean, I know I agreed but – "

"No buts," Mozzie told her immediately, grabbing his now-full glass and plopping himself on the sofa opposite her. "You agreed to the plan and now you're in. No backing out."

"I didn't say I was backing out," she objected as Neal joined them. "I was just wondering how you'd do it. That place is swarming with cameras and if it gets stolen, won't the police be on the lookout for any painting that could be it being sold on the black market?"

"That's the great thing about the black market – everything about it is illegal, so people know not to flaunt their involvement about."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Neal piped in, "Quinn, shh, it's fine. We've done it a million times – right, Moz?" he added, and his partner in crime nodded once, calm. "As for getting the painting, we'll work that out. For now, all you have to worry about is helping Peter with this case. He thinks he's got a lead, but we need to check it out for him."

"How?"

Neal's eyes sparkled. "You'll find out tomorrow."

At the time, Quinn had thought he was just trying to glorify whatever it was Peter wanted them to do tomorrow at the office. She thought it would probably be looking through papers or criminal profiles to find the right person. But as she and Neal entered the conference room the next morning, joined by Peter's employees Diana and Jones (that was his second name and no matter how many times Quinn had asked him what his first name was, dared by Neal, he wouldn't tell her what it was), she knew that wasn't the case. Peter was beaming from ear to ear as he asked them to sit.

"We think we've got a lead on the murderer," he declared, sounding like a puppy who'd located the garden he'd buried his bone in, as he held up a character profile of a greying middle class man, dressed in a smart dark suit. "This is Edward Williams. He's a wealthy business man – gets most of his money from investment banking. He has shares in all the top businesses. He also dabbles in the black market, particularly loaning to underground businesses to get them started – including the counterfeit business our victim had."

Quinn shuddered, the name ringing a distant bell in her mind. But why?

"Alright?" Neal asked, noticing the tremor run through her.

She nodded, lying, before deflecting the attention by asking, "So what do you want us to do?"

"Our Mr Williams is having a little party tonight," Peter informed them gleefully, "and a certain gem and antique dealer, George Donnelly, is looking to get a little help from him to set up an international business."

Neal grinned. "I get to be a con man again?"

"You get to _pretend_ to be a con man again," corrected Peter. "Quinn will pretend to be your glamorous girlfriend, unfortunately for her."

Quinn smirked, biting back a laugh as Neal asked, "Do I get a new suit?"

"No, but Quinn gets a new dress."

Once, Quinn had known a girl who'd freak out at that before running to the nearest dress shop to spend hours playing princess until she'd found the perfect one. Now, though, the girl was older and had bigger things to worry about than spending daddy's cash. The name Edward Williams preyed on her mind, stalking her thoughts as she tried to help Peter's wife, Elizabeth, pick dresses for her to try on. All the ones she suggested were sleek and stylish, different to the sort of thing Quinn might pick for herself. But they were beautiful, so she let Elizabeth narrow it down to two before she shuffled off to try them on.

The first was long with a plunging neckline – two features Quinn didn't usually look for in a dress, but Elizabeth assured that this dress was a contender. Cascades of pink chiffon flowing gracefully down to her feet as she stepped out of the dressing room, ribbon band around her waist like a bow on a present, tying everything together.

The second was short with a high neckline – two features Quinn usually did look for in a dress. However, the colour was bland; she knew black was stylish and was pretty much acceptable at any social event but Quinn wasn't sure she'd get to keep the dress after the party. As she stepped out to show Elizabeth, she saw the woman's jaw drop, eyes scanning her before coming to rest on Quinn's face with a smile.

"We'll take both, so you can choose on the night," she decided.

Thankfully the party was a few days away so, once Elizabeth had paid for the dresses (the FBI were paying, as apparently the dress was crucial to the investigation) and they'd left, Quinn tried to forget. At Neal's, she hung the dresses in the back of the wardrobe, out of sight and out of mind. Instead, she went back to doing what she usually did; reading and painting, using her free days to soak up as much as she could. In the evenings, Neal would join her if Mozzie wasn't around – which meant he never really did.

"No Mozzie tonight."

Quinn looked up and watched as Neal sat opposite her on the sofa. In one of his hands were stacks of research on the case he was currently investigating. In the other, a glass of wine. He put them both on the coffee table in front of her, beside her watercolours. Briefly, he looked up and caught her eye, before pulling forwards a file and disappearing behind it; he planned to focus on his work – something he wouldn't do if Mozzie was there.

"No Mozzie," she agreed, going back to her painting.

But something caught her eye and she looked up, titling her head to read the file name again – just to check she'd read it right the first time. There was no mistaking the words, however, and she frowned. Somehow, Neal caught her looking and frowned.

"What?"

"The Davidson jewellery heist?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, before frowning. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I thought that was a pretty open and close case."

"What do you mean?"

"It was the wife. Obviously."

"Obviously," agreed Neal sarcastically, before asking, "How? She's dead."

Rolling her eyes, Quinn dragged the file towards her and pointing to the blonde woman on the man's arm. "This is Davidson's _girlfriend_. Not his wife. Few people knew he had a wife, because he carted the girlfriend around in town. She was younger, hotter and perkier than the wife."

"This is all making perfect sense – except for how you know there was a wife."

"His finger," she stated, pointing to his ring finger. "He was tanned, from holidays – apart from his ring finger; a band about the size of a gold wedding ring. So he was married – but he wasn't wearing it when he was killed – so the perky blonde he was with was the girlfriend."

"So you think she must have got wind of the affair and decided to kill them both?" asked Neal, slipping onto the floor and curling his legs under the coffee table, so they brushed hers.

"No, it was more than that – jewellery heist, remember?" Quinn pointed out, biting her lip as she thought. "Oh! Of course – their bank balance! They're married, so they pool their money. But she must have spotted that money for expensive jewellery was disappearing from their account."

"Why jewellery?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Money disappears from your partner's account – you're instantly going to think it's an affair. Plus it'll be easy to find out for sure; you can bring up details of all sales made through cards at the bank," she added. "Anyway, so your husband is buying jewellery and you're not seeing any of it? Obviously another woman. So what do you do? Find out who and stop it."

"And steal the jewellery?"

"Right, because it should be yours."

Neal didn't reply at first, soaking this up, before looking at her as if he was studying her. She watched as his eyes took in her green eyes and the lip she was teasing between her teeth, embarrassed. Then he reached across the table and tucked her short, blonde hair behind her ear, keeping his hand resting there, almost cupping her face. Quinn swallowed, suddenly aware. Since she'd seen him, she'd always thought he was good-looking. Neal knew he was good-looking too – how could he not when he had girls gushing over him everywhere he went? She'd never thought any more than that; their relationship was strictly business, especially as Quinn had sworn off boys the same night her life had flipped upside down.

"You're nineteen," he murmured, retracting his hand, "and you know all about stuff like this?"

Quinn shrugged, deciding not to admit why by instead confessing, "I like crime shows."

Neal smirked. "Is real life anything like them?"

Sighing, she let herself divulge, "Every little bit."


	3. Chapter 3

It took a while, but eventually Quinn picked her dress. When she emerged from the bathroom, hair and make-up done, she guessed she must have picked the right one as both Mozzie and Neal stopped talking. Their conversation had been completely forgotten as their heads swivelled to look at her. Embarrassed, Quinn bit her lip and let her head fall so her eyes could peek at the black heels she was wearing. She grasped the dress between her fingers, pulling it out to kind of show the dress off before looking up.

"Is this one alright?" she asked shyly. "Elizabeth got me another. I can try that one on if you like. It's more – "

"That one – " Neal began, swallowing when he realised how husky his voice had come out before starting again. "That one's perfect."

"Do you have a fabulous name to accompany that fabulous dress?" asked Mozzie, handing her a glass of wine.

Quinn took the drink, opening her mouth although not sure what she'd say; she was too surprised by the compliment from him. Usually, Mozzie treated her like she was the criminal, asking her questions or looking down his nose at her.

"Cecilia," Neal declared, lifting his glass to his mouth and taking a sip as his eyes met Quinn's. "Ready?"

Even if she felt she was, she wasn't. They couldn't leave until Diana had arrived with undercover equipment, including a pen that recorded conversations for Neal. She also had to cut Neal's tracker off of his leg, which pleased him greatly. Then, they were ready. They clambered into a taxi to get to the party. It was in a part of town Quinn had never been to, but it reeked of secrecy. Instinctively, she moved closer to Neal and felt his hand on the small of her back as they entered the venue.

The party was in the back of a nightclub, somewhere Quinn was legally not allowed to go. She guessed, as she was there under FBI instructions, that it didn't really matter. And, anyway, Cecilia was older than her. That was what she had to keep in mind as Neal led her around the room, networking and introducing himself – and her – to people. After that, they found a table in the corner and sat.

"Relax," Neal muttered, watching her play with the condensation of her non-alcoholic drink; Cecilia might have been legal to drink, but Quinn definitely wasn't. "You're doing fine."

"I haven't done anything," she pointed out.

"Really?" he asked, smirking as he leant closer, talking so only she could hear. "No one here can take their eyes off of you. You're getting us attention – attention that Williams won't be able to ignore. Eventually, he'll seek us out."

"And George is okay with everyone gaping at his girlfriend?" Quinn found herself asking.

Neal chuckled as he stood. "I think Cecilia needs a proper drink."

She watched as he walked away, leaving her sat there alone. Quinn tried not to worry about being in a room full of criminals, taking a deep breath and focused on Neal. By now, he'd reached the bar. He was talking to someone – someone Quinn had only seen in 2D in a criminal profile. Williams pointed over at her and Neal looked over, smiling softly as their eyes met, before nodding, grinning as he turned back to Williams. Quinn watched them talk for a little longer, before Neal extracted himself from the man's conversation.

"What was that all about?" she asked as he sat next to her, placing the drinks on the table.

"Williams was just congratulating me on my choice of girlfriend," Neal informed her, grinning. "He wants to talk later."

"And what do we do until then?"

"Wait. Drink. Talk."

Quinn pulled a face. "That's it?"

"What did you expect?" he asked, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on his knees.

She shrugged. "I don't know. More chasing, less… less waiting."

"It pays to play it cool," was all Neal said in reply, eyes glancing around the room, letting silence fall between them for a moment before declaring, "You need to kiss me."

Quinn turned to him, eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

Neal smirked before looking over her shoulder. "Williams isn't falling for it. He's watching us," he explained before looking back at her, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting his hand cup her face. "Just one kiss. Then you can go to the bathroom and wash your mouth out."

"I never said…" she began before catching sight of Neal's smirking face.

He was teasing her. Of course. Well, she was going to wipe that smile off of his face.

Before she had chance to think it through, Quinn was leaning in, one hand grabbing Neal's tie and pulling him to her. Their lips met half way, crushing together by the velocity of her movements. It took a moment for either of them to register what was happening. And then Neal pulled away, letting her take a breath before pressing his lips back to hers, kissing her properly. Quinn had never been kissed like it, so instantly fell into it, believing the lie herself.

"He's coming over," Neal muttered in her ear, pressing a kiss below her ear before sitting back in his chair, straightening his suit. "Ah, Mr Williams."

As the man approached, Quinn's insides knotted as she caught a glimpse of the man he'd been talking to. She stiffened, swallowing. She knew him. Only too well. Trying to keep calm, she watched him as Neal pressed his hand to the small of her back. He'd seen her stiffen and, thinking she was scared of being undercover, had moved closer to her to keep the lie up. But being Mr Donnelly's girlfriend wasn't the problem. It was if she got spotted as her.

Neal had just begun talking to Williams his "business" when it happened. The man turned and instantly spotted her, his eyes wide at first before narrowing with anger. Quinn heard herself wince as she did the first thing that came to her mind. She jumped up and muttered something about needing the bathroom before taking off across the room. She was in the corridor, nearly out the backdoor to safety when a hand grasped her. She was pushed back against the wall, hands on both of her shoulders, holding her in place as he leered at her.

"Finally," he hissed. "What do you think you're doing, running to the police like that?"

"I – I didn't!" she lied, panicking.

For a moment, they stood like that before he dropped his hands, letting her go. Quinn didn't react, knowing it was too good to be true – and, like she expected, it was. Moments later, he had a gun in his hands and had the barrel pressed to her throat.

"D-d-don't," she stuttered, shaking.

"Give me one good reason."

"FBI… The whole place is surrounded… You'll be in cuffs before you can take one step…"

He considered this, before lowering the gun. "You've always been lucky. Next time, you won't be."

Quinn was breathing deeply as she watched him tuck the gun back in his trousers before walking away. Once he was out of sight, her legs collapsed and she slipped down the wall. She sat there for a moment or two, trying to gather herself back together. Then, she picked herself back up and went back to the party. No sooner was she in the room then Neal was at her side.

"Are you okay? You just left," he said, his voice boarding on panicking.

Quinn nodded, swallowing as she lied, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I couldn't do it."

"Well, it's okay, I got the whole thing on tape. Come on," he said, taking her hand, making her feel safe again. For the time being.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just realised that I forgot to mention that the title is from Fun.'s song "Stars" which I feel really, really links in with the fic. There's also a few more songs but I can't remember them off the top of my head (it's about 1am so please forgive me) - if you want to know, just ask and I'll try and remember. I think one may be a Noah and the Whale song. But yeah. Just felt I should mention that. **

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It was Quinn that Peter called into the conference room first, which surprised everyone.

As soon as they arrived at the office the next morning, Neal handed over the pen and, without a word, Peter retreated back to his office to listen to it. Quinn had thought maybe he'd talk to them first, or they'd listen to the tape altogether. Apparently, Peter was going to listen to it before calling Quinn to him.

"So, Williams," he began, sitting on the edge of the table. "Tell me about him."

Quinn bit her lip. "Err, what do you want to know?"

"Recognise him?"

Yes. "No, he – " she began, swallowing. "He's not the murderer."

"Huh," Peter replied, pulling a face. "Then why did you leave in a hurry?"

Quinn felt her heartbeat rise as she lied, "I – I just couldn't do it."

"Okay, well," he said, sighing as he stood. "I guess you can go. You might as well go back to the flat. I'll call you if we find another suspect."

"I… Okay," she agreed quietly, slipping from her chair and crossing the room.

As soon as she was out, Neal was there, asking, "Well?"

She shrugged.

He frowned. "Is everything – "

"Neal?" came Peter's voice from the door way. Quinn saw him grin as he caught sight of the tracker on his ankle. "How did one night of freedom feel?"

"Amazing," he admitted, rocking back on his heels with a grin as he dipped his hands in his pockets. "Any chance for another one?"

"Not yet. We're back down to zero suspects."

"Oh," was all Neal said, before realising Quinn had already fled down the stairs and was halfway across the office. "Hey! Q! Where – "

"I told her to head home," she heard Peter tell Neal before she left. "I think we need to talk."

Quinn supposed he meant about the party, but there was no reason for her to be out of the office when he did that, or even out of the room. It didn't make sense, but she was sure whatever it was, it had something to do with how Peter had reacted when she'd told him she couldn't pretend to be someone. He hadn't sounded cold, more disappointed, but that was the feeling Quinn got from him. It was as if Peter had thought the murder had been that straightforward. She would have given anything to assure him that this murder was as confusing as an episode of BBC's Sherlock.

Neal didn't say anything about what they'd spoken about, or what they'd done at the office that day when he returned home. Instead, he peeled off his jacket and sat backwards on a kitchen chair, leaning his crossed arms on the top of the chair's back. Quinn could feel him watching her as she read but, instead of giving in, she licked her lips and made herself focus on the story. Since she'd been staying with him, Neal had often done this. It was kind of like a game; Neal would watch her, waiting to see how long it would take to irritate her so she turned and asked him what the problem was.

Quinn lasted three minutes before she put down the book. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied with a smirk; he took great pleasure in knowing he'd won, she could practically hear it in his voice as she looked away. "What did you do today?"

"Read, draw – the usual."

Neal thought about this for a moment before asking, "Have you done any practice sketches of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_?"

Quinn turned to him. "No…. Does this mean – "

"Moz!" he shouted as he got up and crossed over to her, planting himself on the sofa opposite. "Stop skulking on the balcony and get in here!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he called back, hurrying across as quickly as his glass of red wine would allow. "Who's dying?"

"No one's dying – but Quinn will soon be living," Neal declared, grinning at them both in turn. "I've found a prospect buyer for our painting. Last night, Williams – "

"No, wait, _I've_ found a buyer!" Mozzie stated.

Quinn rolled her eyes, lifting her feet to rest them on the coffee table. "Well, we can't sell it twice…"

There was a silence as they considered this, before Neal realised suddenly, "Yes, we can."

"I'm not painting two," Quinn told him immediately.

"You don't have to," he assured, leaning forwards. "But we don't need to worry about that yet. We need to sort out how we're getting in and out of that museum without getting spotted by the cameras."

"I don't want to know," she told them, standing up and walking away. "I want to know as little as possible, okay?"

For that reason, Quinn spent the next few days avoiding the main area of the lounge. Mozzie was around most of the time, sat at the kitchen table with a plan of the museum and a glass of wine in front of him. Neal was only there in the evenings, after work, while she was still avoiding the office. Peter's cold disappointment rung through her every time she thought about what they were doing. Especially involving Williams. He was nothing but bad news, and even the infamous Neal Caffrey couldn't pull one over on him.

"Hey, earth to Q," came a voice, waking her from her thoughts.

"Huh?" she asked, blinking as she looked up to see Mozzie sit opposite her while Neal lifted her outstretched legs so he could sit on the sofa with her.

"We've figured everything out," he told her, his fingers caressing her ankles, which he'd placed back on his legs. "But, because I have to toe the line, we need to get me a good alibi."

"Which is where you come in," Mozzie told her, pointing just to make sure she knew who he meant.

Quinn bit her lip. "What do I have to do?"

"You're going to accompany me to dinner tomorrow night," Neal told her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he waited for her to react.

"Wait, like a date?"

"_Exactly_ like a date."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Just thought I'd let you know, I'm currently on holiday for ten days. I'll try to update when I usually do (Sunday) but if I haven't finished the chapter I'm on, you might have to wait a few days. (I like to be about two-three chapters ahead of the current posted one). Also this chapter didn't really become what I wanted it to but, c'est la vie. **

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Yes," he assured for what must have felt the hundredth time that evening before adding, "But when has that ever stopped me?"

Quinn bit her lip, looking around the restaurant. When this crazy idea had been suggested, she'd thought the date they had in mind was one at the flat, where they could do whatever while Mozzie was out. Just like they usually did. But no. As soon as Quinn had gotten in from helping June, she'd found Neal in the kitchen, fixing his cufflinks and telling her to pick an outfit to wear to a posh restaurant. Even though she'd picked a dress she'd brought from her dorm, she still felt uncomfortable, tugging at it every few seconds as if there was something wrong with it. Neal had assured her again and again that there wasn't, just like he'd assured her of everything that evening.

"Y'know, if it bugs you so much, we don't have to call it a date," he declared, passing her a menu. "I just thought, for Peter and everyone, it was easier – and they'd think it anyway because… well – "

"It's fine," she told him, cutting in so she didn't have to hear him tell her what she already knew; she'd hung around the office long enough to hear the rumours.

Silence fell between them. Feeling bad, Quinn bit her lip and looked up from the menu, catching a look of discomfort in Neal's face – something she'd never seen, or thought she'd see. She opened her mouth to say something, just to ease the atmosphere but all she found herself saying was what she wanted to eat for dessert. The awkwardness lasted until they'd finished their meal.

"I know barely anything about you, outside of the case, y'know," Neal pointed out.

Quinn shrugged as she sat forwards, crossing her arms and leaning them on the table. "Isn't that what you do on a date? Find out about each other?"

"Well, you begin."

"But I... I don't know what to say."

Neal's eyes sparkled as he told her, "The basics are usually a good start."

She sighed. "Okay, well, I'm Quinn – I mean, my first name's Lucy but I go by Quinn. Errm, I'm – "

"Wait," he stopped, frowning. "Your first name's Lucy? So why do you go by Quinn?"

"Because kids aren't that creative with nicknames in middle school," Quinn confessed awkwardly. "That's why I go buy my middle name, and not my first anymore. As well as the fact I'm a totally different person to who I was in middle school… thinner, blonder…. Except for – well, you don't want to know about how I was, right?"

Neal shook his head as he sat forwards too. "No, no, no, I do! I mean… I meet a lot of people who won't tell you about this sort of stuff to protect themselves."

"Which is why I went first," Quinn presumed. "So you could hear all about me and not tell me a single thing about yourself."

He smirked. "Guilty as charged."

"I bet you're used to saying that by now," she grinned, tapping his anklet with her heeled sole of her shoe. "Gonna tell me how you got that?"

"Four year sentence for bond forgery," he declared simply. "I had three months left when I decided prison wasn't where I wanted to be anymore and broke out. Peter caught me and the government gave me a new fashion accessory."

Quinn watched him for a moment, before saying, "There's more to that story, isn't there?"

Neal shrugged. "Maybe, but you don't want to know about how I was, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "I walked into that one, huh?"

"Yup. A truth for a truth – that's the deal."

"I told you my real name!" she objected. "I gave you my full name and that I was bullied while you only told me half a story! You owe me!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "My real name is Neal Caffrey – Neal George Caffrey. And that was more than _half_ a story; I only missed out the part where I went to find my girlfriend. How's that?"

"Oh, I…" she began, thrown off by the mention of a girlfriend. "What happened to her?"

"Kate? Oh, she… she was gone," he informed her casually, although Quinn could see the cracks in his act. "Cue a manhunt for her before she gets blown up when I finally find her. It's… it's a long story."

Seeing how it bothered him, she didn't dare to press the conversation, admitting instead in a small voice, "My past relationships didn't end any better. I mean, no one got blown up, but… they were still crazy."

"Truth for a truth?" Neal asked softly, checking it was okay to keep the deal.

Quinn nodded, closing her eyes as she told him, "When I was fifteen, I cheated on my first boyfriend with his best friend… and I got pregnant."

Quinn didn't miss the surprise as it flashed across Neal's face. "You have a baby?"

She shook her head, opening her eyes so she could meet his as she went on, "I _had_ a baby. I gave her up for adoption."

"What's her name?"

"Beth," she told him, smiling softly. "Like the Kiss song."

"I didn't peg you as a Kiss fan," Neal told her, his voice still soft but with its usual edge of cockiness.

"I bet you didn't peg me for a mother, either," she teased, giggling a little before adding soberly, "I'm not a kiss fan, by the way. Her dad is."

"Her dad," he repeated, as if he'd only just realised it took two to make a baby. "What's the deal with him, then?"

Quinn shrugged. "He's in LA, as far as I know. He has a pool cleaning company. After Beth, we… well, I was a mess in high school. We probably could have gotten back together – once or twice, we did – but… yeah."

"Do you still talk to him?"

"Not really. We… We weren't exactly friends. I mean, we were but – High school relationships are messed up," she summed up, adding, "Well, at least mine were. I don't know about everyone else's."

Neal shrugged, topping up their wine glasses. "I wouldn't know. I dropped out."

Quinn frowned, surprised. "Really? So you didn't graduate?"

"Nope."

"How come?" she couldn't stop herself asking.

Neal sat back, shaking his head. "I don't talk about that."

Quinn bit her lip, trying to think of a way to get rid of the awkward tension and only managing to reply teasing, "So I'm the cleverest even though I dropped out of college?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. "Come on then," he told her, taking her hand and helping her up, "let's go and get our Ace back in college."

Quinn let him lead her out of the restaurant and into the street, pausing only to pay. "Do you think Mozzie has got it?"

"Probably. What time is it?" Neal replied, lifting his hand to check his watch; it was only then that Quinn realised he still had her hand in his. "Nearly eleven… So, yeah, he's probably got it and is relaxing somewhere with a bottle of expensive wine."

Quinn bit her lip to hide her smile because, yes, that sounded exactly like Mozzie. "So when we get back, we're going to find him celebrating?"

"No," he told her, lifting his free hand to hail a cab. "I told him not to."

"Oh," was all she could find to say, not sure how to react.

To her knowledge, Neal had never told Mozzie not to come around before. There were times when Neal called him over, to discuss this or that, but usually Mozzie turned up and let himself in. There was no knowing when or if he'd be there; he just was. Considering what he'd just done, Quinn expected Neal to have told Moz to come over so they could discuss what the next step was. So for Neal to tell him to stay away… Quinn felt herself blushing as she slipped into the taxi before Neal.

She felt stupid for thinking it, but maybe…

Maybe Neal had another reason for calling it a date.


	6. Chapter 6

"I haven't told you how gorgeous you looked tonight."

Quinn looked up from dropping her clutch on the table, trying to figure out how react in a sane way. Neal had complimented her before, but often on her taste in literature or her drawing skills. He'd only complimented her looks when he'd been George Donnelly and she'd been his girlfriend. But stood there, in his flat, Neal was Neal and Quinn was Quinn. There was no excuse – they weren't even on a faux date anymore. Not in Quinn's mind, anyway. For Neal, however… Instead of meeting his eye, she bit her lip and dropped her gaze back to her bag.

"We're not on the pretend date anymore," she reminded him, pretending to look through her sparkly clutch for her phone. "You don't have to compliment me or whatever."

"I want to, though," Neal replied, coming over to stand opposite her, leaning on the back of the kitchen chair.

"This is not the Neal Caffrey I signed up for," she muttered.

"And what Neal Caffrey was that?"

Quinn sighed as she found herself forced to look up at him, unable to pretend to be looking for anything. "A Neal Caffrey that was – well, a Neal Caffrey that wasn't soppy."

He chuckled. "You think that's soppy? That's nothing."

"If that's nothing, I don't want to see soppy," she told him, before yawning. "I think it's time I got to bed. Night."

"Q, wait!" Neal called as she began making her way to the guest bedroom which, for the last month, had become hers.

He reached the doorway before her, blocking it so she couldn't enter. Neal smirked down at her as Quinn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, sighing. This was the Neal she'd signed up for, unfortunately; the one who was charmingly sly and could get his own way just by smiling at you. The one who was stood in front of her, eyes sparkling as he enjoyed teasing her.

"Okay, so soppy didn't work – how about cheesy?" he asked quietly, despite the fact they were the only two in the apartment. "Did it hurt when you – "

"No," she stopped him, shaking her head. "Anything but that one."

"Do you have a map? Because I keep getting lost in your eyes."

Quinn bit her lip to stop herself laughing, not wanting to lose this game.

But Neal continued. "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again? ... Were you arrested earlier? It's gotta be illegal to look that good."

At that one, Quinn couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, that one – "

"I lost my teddy bear. Can I sleep with you instead?"

Quinn blinked, not sure she'd heard right. "What?"

"You heard," he replied, his voice still calm. He was serious.

"_Neal_," was all Quinn could say.

"If Peter gets wind of the thieft and comes around tomorrow, he'll – "

"I'm not going to sleep with you," she cut in, wanting to make it clear from the start. "I don't care if it's for the stupid plan. I'm not going to do it. I don't sleep with people on the first date. I'm not that sort of person."

She decided to not mention she found him attractive enough to sleep with… maybe…

Neal nodded, accepting that, letting silence fall that broke only when he asked softly, "Are you a first date goodnight kiss person, then?"

Quinn considered this for a moment, before nodding.

Before she knew what was happening, Neal had leant forwards and had captured her lips with his, gentle at first but, when she didn't pull away, with more force. His hand moved, to support her neck, and Quinn's hands instantly rested on his hips. It was different to the first "kiss" they'd had, at William's party. That one had been to prove something, while this one… Quinn wasn't sure what this one was, just that she'd never been kissed like this before and she never wanted it to end.

It seemed like forever, but it was more like a few seconds, maybe minutes, before Quinn managed to clear her head enough to pull her lips away to repeat, "Goodnight kiss girl, remember?"

"Right, yeah," he agreed, his hands moving to her waist. "One more."

She let him kiss him once more before pulling away again. "Goodnight, Neal."

Sighing, he smirked as he stood back. "Night, Ace. Sleep well."

But she didn't.

Suddenly, she realised everything had changed. Not between her and Neal (although, yeah, they'd definitely crossed the line between friendship and whatever was on the other side – it had been a long time since she'd gone down the friends path in romance), but in general. Before, the forgery plot had only been an idea, something they'd tossed around and mused about. But now it was real, it was happening. At least, to her it was. Mozzie had done his part, and now it was Quinn's turn. Whatever she did next would follow her forever. It changed everything. Her life was never going to be the same again.

And she wasn't ready.

Unable to sleep again, woken suddenly as the realisation hit her unconscious body, Quinn got up to do the one thing that always help. She padded into the main room, making sure to be quiet as she crossed the kitchen to the lounge. Flicking the kettle as she passed, Quinn stood in front of Neal's bookshelf, sliding out the one book she was positive she knew nearly as well as her name. The story of a girl who just wanted everything to be the same forever, and a boy who'd found a way.

As she hugged the book close to her, the kettle boiling, she finally let herself look at Neal, on the bed behind the sofa. He looked so peaceful, face blank as he slept soundly. His duvet was scattered across the bed, a foot poking out while one of his arms was tucked under his pillow, the other thrown across his bare… _Oh_. Despite living together for a while now, Quinn had never seen any part of Neal bare except his feet and arms; she'd gone to extra lengths to make sure of that, not wanting to get in the way. But now… Things were different now. After all, only hours before, they'd been –

"You don't need to stare, y'know," came Neal's voice sleepily as he rolled over.

Quinn felt herself blush as she looked away. "I – I was making tea."

"I'll have coffee," he told her, muffled by his pillow. "When I get up in an hour."

"Yes, your highness," she muttered, smirking as she moved back to make her drink.

She'd just finished when there was a knock on the door, followed by a voice shouting, "Neal? Neal!"

"Err, I think it's for you," Quinn told him loudly as she walked towards the door, unlatching it.

On the other side, she found Peter, who smiled briefly at her as he entered the flat. "Morning Quinn," he greeted, before turning to Neal, who'd hauled his ass out of bed by now, and pointing angrily. "You better not have it. I swear to God – "

"Have what?" Neal asked innocently, frowning for added effect; by now, Quinn had also figured out what Peter meant.

"The painting."

"What painting?"

"The Van Gogh one that was stolen from the Museum of Modern Art last night," Peter told him, already beginning his search of the flat.

Quinn realised this was her moment and reminded, "But Neal was with me last night. We went out for a meal."

Neal nodded, crossing his arms as he stood beside her. "You can check with the restaurant."

Peter bit his lip as he considered this, eyes scanning Neal before falling to Quinn. She could tell it was a test. Peter was mentally weighing up whether he could trust them or if he had to ring the restaurant to find out. Or he was waiting to see if the tense pause who break Quinn and make her confess? Either way, it made her uneasy but she had to stop herself looking that way. After all, if she was telling the truth, she'd be confident.

She mustn't have looked two awkward as, after a moment, Peter sighed. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, Neal…"

"I know, I know," he assured breezily, leaning on the kitchen table as he sighed. "I guess this means an early start today?"

Peter pulled a face as he moved towards the door, calling back over his shoulder, "I'll see you in an hour. _Don't_ go back to bed!"

"Hmm," was all Neal replied, standing up properly and turned his back on the door.

Quinn felt his eyes on her as she moved to the kettle, checking the temperature before flicking the switch again. As it boiled, she leant up and grabbed another cup of out the cupboard, filling it with a spoon of coffee. She didn't hear the footsteps, so Neal's hands on her waist surprised her. But instead of jumping, like she'd done every time someone had touched her recently, Quinn found herself relaxing into his touch as the butterflies in her stomach pacified. They were still there, and her heart rate was still high – but because of a different kind of fear. One she hadn't felt for a long time.

"We have a coffee maker, y'know," Neal murmured into her hair.

Quinn stopped, focused on that one word. "_We_?"

"Hmm," he agreed, his arms snaking around her waist. "He thought we'd slept together."

"Then you got what you wanted," she replied, pouring the water and stirring.

As she reached for the milk, he murmured, "No. I wanted you."

"You also want a forgery," she reminded, pulling away and holding out his cup. "When's Mozzie coming around?"

With a pout, Neal took it from her and had a sip. "I don't know," he admitted, leaning his hip against the cabinet. "I'll call him on my way to work. Are you going to work on it today?"

"Have to earn my keep somehow."

"If you wake up every morning to make me a coffee like this, I'll pay you to stay," he told her, downing the drink before putting his cup down.

Quinn shook her head, biting back her smile as she stepped around him and walked out of the room to go and change. She took her time, allowing herself to pause and think about Neal. She thought last night had been a one-time only thing, considering their date (she didn't like calling it pretend after everything that had happened) but apparently not. Neal was being just as flirty as he had been the night before. What if he… _No_. Quinn stopped herself before she got too stupid. No matter what, she was their forgery and a murder witness first and foremost. They were the main reasons for whatever was going on.

Even so, she couldn't stop herself grinning like a Cheshire cat when she came back out to find five cents on the table with a scribbled note that read _'keep the change- it's for having something as beautiful as you around'._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, I'm going to be honest and say IDK when they next update will be. I literally just finished chapter 8, which is why this is late. But I do want to finish this before I get too involved with school again, so... Yep.**

* * *

Despite Quinn's plan, not much work got done over the next few weeks.

With the stolen painting case to deal with as well, the White Collar division was working extra hard and they soon found that, even with staff working 24 hours at a time, there wasn't enough people for the workload they had. Therefore, Quinn was drafted in to work on the murder case. It was less exciting than it sounded; she simply spend the day sat at Neal's desk, looking through wanted criminals to try and place a face with the one she'd seen. The only good thing was that she didn't need to make her own tea; Jones seemed to enjoy surprising her every hour with a new cup. Once in a while, Neal would make a surprise appearance with gifts.

"One raspberry and white chocolate muffin," he declared, setting the bag on the desk and collapsing in the chair Peter had just evacuated. "And, because I think you deserve a treat, a chai tea latte."

Quinn rolled her eyes, putting her hands together so Neal could place it on her palms. "The tea is the treat?"

"I thought tea was always a treat for you," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes falling to the files scattered around her. "No luck?"

She shook her head; his face was nowhere… luckily. "Do the FBI have files on everyone?"

Neal shrugged. "Just known criminals, probably. Why?"

"Because I don't think he was known," she replied carefully, picking at her muffin. "He looked… he looked too young to have a record."

Frowning, Neal leant forwards. "Tell me again," he told her quietly. "What – "

"_Neal_!"

They both glanced up to find Peter stood by the conference room, using his thumb to point towards the hive of investigation that was going on behind him. The White Collar bees were swarming around, hurrying here and there, trying to solve the case. It surprised Quinn, considering it seemed like such a simple theft. Then again, she'd made a point to keep out of the planning for that part, so who knew what Mozzie and Neal had done to cover Mozzie.

Sighing, Neal stood, leaning forwards as he did to whisper in her ear, "Half an hour and then you pretend the muffin made you ill, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, frowning as he stood. "Why?"

Neal smirked as he straightened his tie. "I don't want to keep an art student from her art."

By now, Quinn had learnt to go along with Neal's plans. So, roughly half an hour, she was on her way to the bathroom, trying to look queasy, when Diana stopped her. It only took Quinn a sentence before Diana was gone, either not sure how to react to a sick nineteen year old or not sure she should assist something Quinn had done one a day for months once when she should be working. Whatever the reason, Diana left so Quinn could lock herself in a toilet and wait a moment, before leaving the bathroom. She was nearly back to the office when Neal came out of nowhere and grabbed her, pulling her in the direction she'd just come.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a brilliant actress?" he asked as they got in the lift.

"Not really," she confessed, adding, "But I did get an early admission to Yale to study drama, so…"

Neal turned and stared at her, surprised. "Why didn't you tell me? That's first date material!"

"But the reason for going to NYAA is a second date topic," she replied, unable to stop a grin slipping onto her face as she added, "I don't want to scare you away before we've even begin."

A smirk spread across Neal's face as he turned back around to press the ground floor button, the door shutting quickly afterwards. "Apparently, it's not just me and Peter who think there's a we."

Quinn didn't reply, biting her lip as she realised too. It had slipped so easily between her lips, when in her mind it was still being caught by barbed wire. She'd given away the pronoun so easily before, to so many people. And what had it achieved? Nothing but heartache and pain. They'd all left and gone their own ways, leaving her to fend for herself. Except for one, who simply wanted -

Suddenly, Quinn stopped, frowning. They'd just exited the White Collar office and were walking along the street, back to the apartment. Neal had been talking, enlightening her on the progress the team had made on catching the art thief (aka none), and she'd been half listening, paying more attention to the city. She preferred New York at night, but recently she hadn't seen much of the city during the day. It was a refreshing change to see people going about their daily business.

That was when she'd spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Their eyes met and that was all it took. One look, and they were gone, as if they were never there. But they had been there. In fact, thinking back, they'd been there a long time, trailing them since they'd left the office.

"Neal…" she said, cutting into his still on-going update, reaching out and instinctively grabbing his wrist. "Neal, I think we're being followed."

He frowned, glancing up and down the street before back to her. "Okay. Which direction and who?"

"Ahead," she told him, pulling him back when he went to move that way. "And he – he works for Williams."

Neal frowned, but instead of commenting, he just took her hand in his and dragged her across the road, away from the man. As they went, Quinn looked back over her shoulder and saw him, looking around. Then, when he was sure no one was watching him, he dashed across after them. He was walking quicker now, realising they were trying to get away from him. One look of his face and Quinn knew he was determined to get what he came for.

"It's not going to – "

Before she'd managed to finish, Neal had taken a sudden right, pulling her into a small alley off of the sidewalk. He kept pulling her until they were stood under the fire exit stairs, drenched in shadows. He stood in front of her, shielding her from view as he looked back up the alley, checking the coast before looking back down to her.

"Here," he said quietly, taking off his hat and placing it on her head.

Quinn adjusted it, making it sit better on her head as she watched, intrigued by his plan. While continuously glancing over his shoulder, Neal proceeded to take of his suit jacket and chuck it against the wall behind her, blending in with the shadows. Then his navy tie joined the jacket on the floor, which made Quinn both very confused and very nervous. She had no idea what they were doing until Neal unbuttoned the top few of his shirt and took a step closer.

"Now," he purred, slipping his hands onto her waist, bringing her closer to him. "Here's the plan: you pretend to make out with me so – "

"_Excuse me_?" she gasped, exasperated.

Neal shrugged. "Or you can really make out with me. Either way – "

Quinn rolled her eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips as she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers. She didn't like to admit it, but she didn't need to be told to kiss Neal twice – reason or no reason. Not for the first time, a conman had managed to steal her heart. She hoped she'd keep it in tack this time, though, so she refused to admit her feelings. To her, it wasn't a light thing. But to Neal… well, if he wanted some fling while she was there, she guessed that was good enough.

It was always hard to tell what Neal was thinking, however – not unless he said it out loud before holding her close, kissing her passionately until they were sure they'd lost their stalker and that Mozzie would notice their disappearance.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry this is nearly a week late. This chapter is actually chapter 9 - for some reason, I lost chapter 8 but it's okay, nothing was lost that's incredibly important to the story. Just an appearance of Sara and a sort of timestamp for the story. So I managed to just shift this to chapter 8 and continue... Idk if this is making much sense; I'm super tired rn. But anyway... Enjoy!**

* * *

By lunch time the next day, the forgery was done.

Quinn let Mozzie give Neal the great news, as she tidied up, literally seconds after she'd announced she'd finished. By the time she'd come back from washing her brushes and palette, Mozzie was off the phone – only because Neal was now setting up the deal for that evening, wanting it shifted before the FBI got too involved. Quinn doubted they'd work it out now, if they'd spent the past week dithering about who'd stolen it. But when he arrived back from work on his lunch break, Neal assured her that when Peter got an idea, he was gone.

"There isn't any time," he told her, turning away from the forgery, taking one last glance at her handiwork. "We need it gone, off of our hands. No way do I want Peter to come for an unexpected trip to search the flat again while it's here."

It didn't matter to Quinn when they got rid of it. Her part in the plot was over. Or, that was what she'd thought. After spending the afternoon with June, wanting to do something different to cons for a few hours, Quinn returned to the flat to find Neal with her black bodycon dress ready for her to put on.

"Williams wants you to do the swap," he informed her, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. "He'll allow me to accompany you there but after that, you're on your own."

Quinn blinked. "No. Neal, I can't – I don't – I – "

"Shh, shh, shh," he murmured, stepping forwards to cup her face in his hands, soothing her. "It's okay. You'll be fine."

"But I – "

"I know what happened last time," Neal went on, ignoring her attempts to talk, "but, seriously, it'll be okay. You'll make the deal and then leave. Nothing will happen."

"No, but – "

"It's a business deal – nothing else."

With that in mind, Quinn begrudgingly got ready. After this, she knew she'd be free of their little plot. Well, kind of. And that little doubt was a hole that broke the damn, letting her mind go over everything that had happened in the last two months. Again and again it whizzed around her mind. Faster and faster. The memories blurring into one until she couldn't focus. Her head ached, and she felt sick.

"Neal."

"Yeah?" he asked, letting her pull him to an abrupt stop in the middle of the already dark street, his eyes searching her face with compassion, worried.

"I have to tell you something," she blurted, taking her hand out of his and letting her eyes fall to the ground; she'd been keeping this secret for so long, it actually ashamed her to confess to it. But she had to. "Before – "

"Hey, no," he cut in almost immediately, cupping her face with his hands so he could tug her gaze up to his. "No 'before's, okay? What happened, happened. You can't change that."

"No, Neal, it's – "

"Quinn, it doesn't matter. Whatever it is, it's over – done."

_But it does matter_, she opened her mouth to argue – to yell, shout scream. _It's not over. It's not done. It's still happening and it's putting us both in danger!_

"This changes everything," he went on, his voice softer and quieter now. "As soon as you walk out of here with your money, you can start again. You can go back to college, and quit that stupid job you had – "

_Stupid. Ha. You don't know the half of it!_

" – and y'know, life will be better – easier. I'm not saying money solves everything but – "

She couldn't stand it anymore. "Neal, will you please shut up and just _listen_ to me?!" Quinn found herself growling, before losing the bravado she'd suddenly gained instantly, sighing in the silence she left behind. "I don't want to do this – I can't do this! I mean, Williams – "

"The boss wants to know if she's coming in, or if he's going to have to peer at her through the window?"

Quinn jumped as they both spun to see a young man appear in the doorway of a closed-down restaurant. Neal's fingers loosened and dropped from her chin, going into business mode as the man studied them, and vice versa. Instantly, her heart rate rose, knowing he was one of _them_, one of the men she'd heard so much about. Instinctively (although she couldn't recall when it had become instinct), Quinn moved closer to Neal, feeling his fingers tighten on her waist as she did. It wasn't just her who was scared, although he wouldn't admit that.

Instead, Neal called, "She'll be in in a moment."

The man looked at him for a while, before nodding, taking this as an acceptable answer, before moving away, giving them a little privacy. As soon as the man was inside again, Quinn turned back to Neal, now even more desperate for him to understand.

"Neal – "

"It's okay," he assured again, although she couldn't ignore the waver of some other feeling in his voice. "You'll be okay, Q. I swear."

Quinn wasn't sure if it was that, or the desperateness in Neal's eyes as he studied her face, making sure there was not a trace of worry creasing her face, that made it do it. One minute, she was studying his face and the next she was blurting, "I love you."

Neal blinked in surprised, just as the man came out again, demanding Quinn came inside now with the painting. Or something – she wasn't really listening as Neal cupped her face again but yanking it towards his, crushing his lips to hers. It wasn't like any of their other kisses; this one was rough and desperate, as if it was the last one they'd get for a while.

Finally, they broke apart. Quinn took a few deep breaths to calm herself down while Neal handed her the bag with the rolled up canvas of the painting. The last thing he did was kiss her forehead softly before sending her into Hell.


	9. Chapter 9

Neal was earlier getting back to the restaurant than he'd been told to.

Williams – or his men, whoever he'd spoken to on the phone the last time – had told him that the deal would be over in half an hour, with Quinn walking out the door at quarter to ten. Or Cecilia, as Williams believed she was called. Neal was glad he'd stuck with the undercover name he'd given her; it meant that when this was over, and if Williams got caught with the van Gogh, he could claim a woman called Cecilia had sold it to him – a woman who didn't exist. That left Quinn free to take the money and start again… or whatever she chose to do with it, it didn't bother him.

But at eleven pm and Quinn was still a no show, it did begin to bother him. He began pacing, each time trying to get a look in the restaurant to see what was happening. When that didn't turn up anything, he glanced at his watch. 10.07pm. Quinn should definitely be out by now; there was no reason why this was taking so long.

Unable to see anything else to do, Neal found himself entering the abandoned restaurant. Inside, much like its exterior - windows blacked out by newspaper and paint peeling off of the woodwork - alleged, it was falling apart. Wallpaper was peeling off of the walls, the furniture strewn everywhere. Every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust… except for a few spots on the floor. They looked like footsteps – six, no _seven_ sets, three towards the door and four back. Neal frowned as he tried to work out who they could belong to – one was presumably the door man's, and one obviously belonged to –

_Quinn_.

Realising this was the only clue as to where she was that he had, Neal followed them. They curved around the forlorn chairs and tables and into a backroom. There, they seemed to disappear. There was quite literally nothing there. Nothing except… Neal bent down to pluck the glinting coin from the floor, kicked to the corner out of so-called sight. It was only standing back up that he recognised it as five cents. It didn't mean anything to him, but it was odd that it would be the only thing that was there. He turned the coin over in his hand, gazing up the image of the shrunk image of the White House on the back, before tucking it into his pocket.

By now, he was not only disappointed but also confused. Where the hell was Quinn? And Williams? Had the deal finished early? Needing help, Neal pulled out his phone and called the only person he knew could help.

"Moz, where are you?"

"I just arrived at the flat," came his partner in crime's cautious answer. "Why?"

"Quinn's not there, is she?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder, desperate for even a tiny clue now.

"No. Wait, isn't she with you? And where are you? You were supposed to be ten minutes ago! It doesn't take forty minutes to walk back."

"Yeah, well, a funny thing happened and now we're missing our money, painting and Quinn!"

There was a pause as Mozzie registered this, absorbing his losses before asking, "She ran?"

Neal felt like throwing his phone in anger, his pace quickening as he rushed to get back. "No, of course she didn't! She wouldn't! She's not like that!"

"Okay, calm down, lover boy. It was just a rational explanation and _one we can cross off the list now we've explored it_," he added quickly, knowing Neal would react to that. "Okay, what else?"

"There is nothing else! She's just – she's missing!"

"She's missing," Mozzie repeated slowly, thinking about this. "With both the painting and the money?"

"Yes!"

There was another pause before Mozzie concluded, "Williams."

Neal swore, turning down into his street. "Of course! But why?"

"I don't know, but that seems like the only answer."

"We have to call Peter."

"No, we can't! They have to be gone for 24 hours – "

"Not unless they're a witness!" Neal reminded him, before swearing again, realising, "Williams was a _suspect_, Mozzie! He was the potential killer in – "

" – the murder Quinn witnessed," Mozzie finished, and Neal heard the clink of glass as Mozzie put down his wine in shock. "You better call Peter."

"And you better scour that flat. If the FBI are coming over, we better make sure it's only Quinn they go looking for."

"Roger that," Mozzie replied, before hanging up.

But despite the warning, Mozzie wasn't finished until after half of Peter's team had turned up. Neal wasn't really paying attention to anything other than Peter as he went over what had happened; that he'd tried to lure Williams into confessing by using Quinn as bait ("Serves you right," was Diana's helpful input on that) but instead of a confession, he'd gotten one missing nineteen year old and a five cents coin.

He had just finished the story and was trying to calmly answer Peter's questions when Mozzie appeared at his side. In his hands was something black and broken, which he laid on the table for the team to see. They all frowned, but it was Jones who dived his hand into the debris and pulled out two straps.

"These aren't part of it," he commented. "Look, the colours are different."

"No, because these belong to my anklet tracking device," Neal realised, sitting up and digging in the rubble, not sure what he was looking for. "I took it off for an undercover job on the painting case today, remember?"

"But this isn't your anklet?" Diana asked, confused.

"No," Peter stated solemnly, pulling out the nearly whole logo of Blackberry. "It's a cell phone."

"_Quinn's_ cell phone," amended Mozzie intelligently, continuing, "I'm guessing Williams brought her back here for something and, while his back was turned, Quinn smashed her phone up – because it would be the first thing they took from her – and took her modified tracking device."

"Which should lead us straight to them! She's a genius!"

The joy of this was lost on Neal, as he finally noticed a coin Mozzie must have placed beside the wreckage. Just like the one before, it was a five cents coin, shiny and silver. But this time, it had a different image on it. A bust of a president. The other had had the White House on it… which had lead him to his house. If that clue was right, that meant it was no coincidence she had left a presidential bust with her work of art.

"Quinn doesn't believe in fate," he muttered to himself, as everyone tried to bring the tracking anklet up on Diana's laptop. "Everything happens for a reason."

But what was the reason for this?


	10. Chapter 10

Neal didn't sleep.

When Peter and his team left, to take their search to the office, he paced the flat, thinking over everything that had happened. Nothing made sense. Why would Williams just take off with Quinn like that? What did she mean to him? What did he think he was gaining out of it? _Probably money. He probably wants a ransom_, was Mozzie's suggestion, but it didn't sound right to Neal. Williams hadn't come across as a guy who kidnapped for a ransom. No, he got something else out of this by taking Quinn. But what?

"You need to rest, honey," June told him, as daylight began rising, a new day beginning.

Neal shook his head, shaking the suggestion away. "No, I _need_ to find her. That's what I need."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mozzie exchange a look with June before the woman left, advising once more to get some sleep before slipping down the stairwell. Mozzie watched her leave, before placing himself at the kitchen table, glancing at coins on the table. The FBI had left those, not realising there was a pair and that they probably were left on purpose.

"We need to think like Williams," Mozzie declared, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them. "What does Quinn mean to him?"

Neal shrugged. "Nothing. He thinks she's beautiful – he congratulated me on her. Besides a good view, there is nothing. They haven't even spoken; at the party…" he began, stopping as it hit him.

Mozzie frowned. "At the party…?"

"At the party, she ran," Neal finished, staring at him. "He came over and she freaked out. He scared her. Something about him scared her."

"Do you think she recognised him?"

"No, why would she?"

Mozzie shrugged. "I don't know. Just suggesting."

Neal sighed as he slipped into the seat opposite her. "I just don't know what he'd get from taking her, Moz. He obviously doesn't want money – he's an investment banker for illegal businesses."

He frowned, thinking. "What's his supposed 'motive' for murdering that guy again?"

"The guy wasn't paying back his loan from Williams to start up his counterfeit business," enlightened Neal, frowning. "Why?"

"You don't think he knows Quinn's a witness?"

"No… unless he saw her when he…" Neal trailed off, realising what this meant. "He wants to keep her silence. At the party, he scared her so she'd lie – say he's younger or whatever. But outside the restaurant, she was trying... trying to tell me something. Do you think – "

" – this was what she was trying to tell you? Yes."

_There's only one effective way to silence someone. _

With that terrible thought popping to mind, Neal jumped up. "We have to find her!"

"How? The Suit called and told you the signal on the terrible; it only gives a vague location of the docks and they have people searching there."

For some reason, Neal find his eyes falling on the coins and that was when an idea hit him. "Are there any pubs down by the docks?"

Mozzie shrugged. "Probably. Why?"

Neal picked up the last nickel and gave it to him. "The first one was the White House, and led us here. The second is Jefferson's head – surely there are pubs named The President's Head or something similar?"

"Probably – I'm guessing we're going to find out?"

He was nodding as he grabbed a coat. "Yup."

"Shouldn't we tell The Suit?"

"No time!" Neal called back, already out the door, in a hurry.

The docks were a big area to search, so by the time night had fallen, they were no closer to finding Quinn. All they'd found were scummy ruins, empty except for a growing rat population. It didn't look like anyone had been there in years, except for tramps needing a quiet place to bed down and daring, stupid teenagers. But that gave Neal some hope they were on the right track; if you were hiding something you didn't want found, you wouldn't place it in sight.

They'd started searching at the other end to which the FBI were searching, so they covered more. Neal guessed the others hadn't found anything, or else he'd have known. Peter wouldn't leave him in the dark, especially not about something like this. And usually Neal wouldn't leave Peter in the dark… but he was too caught up on the new clue, on finding Quinn. Every empty hanger they found was both a step closer and a step further from her.

"We need a break," Mozzie decided, as they tripped out of another abandoned warehouse, filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs, "time to rethink… eat… defreeze…"

Grudgingly, Neal let Mozzie drag him back to the flat. It was gone one in the morning when they returned, and June was up waiting for them. He let Mozzie fill her in while he showered, wanting to have a few minutes to himself – as well as needing to, covered in dust and shivering from the bitter December weather. It was so cold, colder than he could ever remember it being, and he wasn't surprised when he spotted tainted white flakes drifting past his window.

Perhaps that was the universe trying to tell him to halt his search, if only for a night. But Neal didn't listen. A few hours later, when Mozzie had finally fallen asleep on one of his sofas, dead to the world, he left, grabbing a coat and scarf before heading back down to the docks.

It took him a few hours before, fingers freezing, he discovered what he'd been looking for. Jefferson's pub. Missing a few letters from the sign, with dark green paint peeling off of the walls, it didn't look like it had been in use for a long time. Quinn had said she'd worked at a pub – it couldn't be this one… could it? But something told him this was the place she'd told him to look for and, using his shoulder, Neal shoved open the door. Inside it was dark, the furniture placed as if the place had only just been locked up for the night while the layer of grime told him otherwise. He stood there for a moment, surveying the pub some more, considering what his next step was going to be, just as his phone rang in his pocket. There was only one person it was going to be.

"I've found it," he whispered into the phone, before Mozzie had time to speak.

There was pause on the other end, before Mozzie asked, "Where are you?"

"Upper bay. Look, you need to…" Neal trailed off, spotting a light from a crack between the wall and the floor. Slowly, he crept towards it, frowning. Through the gap, he could see stairs, the light growing as they disappeared downwards. A basement. Someone was down there. "Mozzie, you need to get here. I think… I think I've found her."

"But where – "

"Jefferson's pub," he told him, before adding quickly, "Tell Peter."

Without hearing what Mozzie had to say, Neal hung up and pocketed his phone, surveying the problem ahead. How the hell did he get down there? Crouching down, his exaimed the crack closer. It didn't look accidental. The crack was in perfect symmetry; the height and length both equal on their opposite sides. Almost like the crack under a door… Realising this, Neal sat back and scanned the wall for a secret door. He spotted a tiny crack and, following it, found the door. It took all his effort to pull it open, the door having no handle, just enough so he could slip downstairs, leaving it open for his back-up.

Neal crept down the stairs, not caring about the danger he was very likely about to walk into. All that mattered to him was Quinn. He needed to get her out, get her somewhere safe and sound. And that wasn't going to be easy. Mind on the fight about to come, Neal swooped and picked up one of the guns littering the side of the stairwell. He didn't thinking about why there were so many guns, just lying around, or how odd the metal weapon felt in his hands.

Near the end of the stairs, he heard voices. Thinking fast, he pushed himself against the wall, glad he was wearing relatively dark clothes so he blended in with the gloom enough to be taken as a shadow during a quick glance. Over his rapid heartbeat, it was hard to hear the voices – men's, no doubt about that – muttering down below. Neal crept another step lower, now in a position to glance around the corner to map out the lower level of the building. As soon as he'd caught sight of it, he reeled his head back in. The basement was one room, dingy and guarded. It was most definitely a hideout, and who they were hiding was tidy up to a pillar.

It took all of Neal's strength not to jump out from the stairwell right then and, instead, pull himself back into the shadows to think about what he'd just seen. Apart from looking a little dishevelled and scared, Quinn had been okay… well, as okay as he could expect. She didn't look in terrible pain. She was a little bruised and battered, plus the ropes were cutting into her wrists. To rescue her, he'd have to cut her free – and there was no way he'd be able to sneak into the room, when no less than ten armed men were hanging around her.

No, there was only one thing to do.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

Suddenly knocked out of their business, the men turned, before jumping to their feet at the sight of the intruder. Many pulled weapons out of pockets, or grabbed them from tables. They'd been expecting him – or, at least, an intrusion. After all, no one can hide forever, no matter how hard they try. The FBI was going to find Quinn eventually, but that didn't mean they had to hand her over. Alive.

"This what you came for?" sneered a young man from beside the right column, cutting Quinn's bonds loose and dragging her to her feet, his clutch tight on her upper arm. "This deceitful little piece of scum?"

Neal swallowed at the sight of Quinn, her eyes wide, pleading with him not to; she wasn't scared for her life, only his – the exact opposite of how he felt. He forced himself not to wince at her mistreatment and instead keep the gun pointed at her captor as he calmly enlightened them, "The FBI will be here soon. If you just give her to me now, we can all be out and gone before they arrive."

"Or we could kill you both now," mused the boy, raising his knife to Quinn's neck as triggers clicked all around Neal, assuring him he was surrounded.

"What do you want?" he heard himself begging, desperate now as the knife pressed closer, creating a trickle of blood down her throat. "How much?"

The boy laughed and one of the men – Williams, stood behind the boy in the shadows – began speaking, but he ignored him as he declared, "This isn't about money. Revenge is much sweeter than money."

Before Neal could even attempt to work out what this meant, Peter's voice echoed loudly around the room as swarms of FBI agents flooded the room, guns pointed at the criminals. Most of them dropped their weapons, hands held high, knowing they were caught. Even Williams admitted defeat. But not the boy. Neal watched, in some sort of helpless trance, as an agent pulled him away from Quinn, who was pleading with him to let go. He fought and, before conceding, he pulled Quinn close one last time. Neal thought it was to kiss her, but the truth was much worse, only realising as he caught the gleam of the bloody blade as he dropped it on the concrete. Neal watched as Quinn gasped and, torn out of his trance, rushed forwards to catch her before she hit the floor.

As he held her, her eyes fluttered open, a small smile slipping onto her face as she saw him, glad it was him. She tried to say something, but Neal shushed her, brushing her dirty hair away from her face. He swallowed, spotting the blood spreading across the fabric of her dress just below her ribs, growing darker every second.

"Neal."

He sniffed, holding back the dam of tears, as he glanced back up to her face, just in time to catch what might be the last look of life in her eyes before she fell unconscious in his arms.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Okay, sorry to have not updated for a while! I now work all weekend and on Monday, so I've been unable to update on those days. Although, I only just got this chapter finished because it's kind of a biggie; the story's drawing to a close now, so I'm just trying to tie everything up and end it perfectly :3**

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Quinn awoke to bright lights.

Dazed and blinking, it took her a while to get her bearings. Alive was the first thing she noticed. She was alive and lying down, in a bed with stiff, pristine bedcovers. Her arms were oddly placed over the covers, pale even for her as tubes worked their way up from her left limb to machines by her head. There were also tubes attached to her nose, feeling funny against her top lip. It had been a long time since she'd been in a hospital, but she'd never had oxygen given to her this way. The situation made her heart rate rise, jolting the machine's perfect rhythm. At the sound, the door to her private cubicle squeaked open, and Quinn turned her head slowly to find her mom crowd in to see her.

"You're awake!" she gasped gleefully, grinning as she clasped her daughter's hand. "Oh, Quinnie… you scared us so much, dear!"

"Mom…" she said groggily, half aware that her mother was now crying. "Mom, what are you…? You didn't have to – "

"Of course I did, Quinn, dear, you're in _hospital_! I can't believe… I don't know what would have happened if that lovely officer, Agent Burke hadn't have called me and – "

"Peter called you?" Quinn echoed, trying to make the information sink in.

If Peter had called her mom, something serious must have happened. He didn't even know her mom's name – or even Quinn's first name. But Neal did. She'd told him on their cover date, the night when they'd been honest and let the other ask anything. Supposedly, anything that was said was kept between them, never to be brought up again except for emergencies. Well, Quinn guessed being admitted to hospital might could as an emergency that demanded her real name, but her mom…?

"What - what happened?" blurted Quinn, speaking over her mother and cutting her off.

Her mom surveyed her with sympathetic eyes, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her daughter's eyes as she explained softly, "Honey, your boyfriend attacked you. He stabbed you."

Quinn frowned. From what she could remember, that wasn't exactly how it had gone…

"He pierced your lung, that's why you're got the oxygen tubes, to help you breathe. When you arrived, you were unconscious and breathing in a lot of blood. It was beginning to drown you. Luckily, the police got you here in time for the doctors to save you. They inserted a chest tube to help you breathe properly and fixed the tear to the lung. It was touch and go for a while."

It was hard for Quinn to get her head around this. "So how… how long was I out?"

"A few days," her mom informed her, before adding as if it had just hit her, "Oh, that man be glad you're finally awake. He's visited you every day, y'know."

"What man?" she asked, pulling herself awkwardly, ignoring the pain in her weak limbs.

"I'll get him for you," is all Judy Fabray said, smiling as she swept her daughter's hair out of her eyes once more before leaving the room.

A few moments after the door swung shut, it creaked open again as a familiar voice declared, "You're alive, then."

Quinn's face fell when she saw who it was. "Oh. Hi, Peter."

The FBI Agent smiled as he settled into the seat her mother had just vacated. "Expecting someone else?"

Was she? After what she'd dropped him into? "No, I guess not."

"There is a lot of paperwork," Peter admitted, trying to excuse him.

"Is that why you're here?"

Peter had the decency to look guilty before he nodded. "Without a statement from you, we can't pin him – or any of them – for what they did. And believe me, I'm not the only one who wants to justice. The whole office is."

"How is he?" Quinn couldn't stop herself asking.

He was quiet for a moment, picking his words carefully before deciding, "Quiet. Subdued."

"He's questioning me," she told him quietly, hating how her heart broke.

"It doesn't make much sense," Peter admitted, before adding cautiously, "Maybe if you start at the beginning…"

Quinn took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

If she could remember when it began…

_Quinn had met Logan during her first semester._

_It was about a month since she'd started at New York Academy of Art. It was around then that the little money she'd saved in Lima had started running out, and her worries about that were making her struggle with college. And then she'd met him, at some random party her roommate had dragged her along to. He was a friend of the host's from high school and, unhappy and intoxicated, Quinn had spilled her guts to him before finding herself making out with him. _

_In the next few weeks, they began dating and that's when Logan had provided an answer for her troubles. He knew a guy who was looking for bar staff. Quinn hadn't known then that the "bar" was secretly am underground office for Logan's father. Paul Davidson was a lawyer, but he got his money mostly from his illegal counterfeit business, which he had set up in the basement of Jefferson's Pub. The ground floor was a bar; Quinn worked as a barmaid, serving whoever came in for a drink – who usually disappeared downstairs at one point during the night before leaving. _

_At that point, she didn't realise quite what getting mixed up in this meant. Logan assured her she was fine, allowing her to sit in on business meeting sometimes or help count the fake money – even allowing her to pocket a few hundred sometimes, when she was short for rent money . But it still came as a blow when Logan's father was murdered. Quinn had known about Davidson's affair, just like Logan had – but his mother hadn't. _

_She was oblivious, living in the country where Logan had grown up for most of the time, only travelling into the city for business – rarely. Quinn had never met her, only heard about her from Logan. Apparently, neither him or his father saw any reason for her to, or for him not to have a fancy city girlfriend. Everyone who knew Paul Davidson thought he was single, with a son whose mother had bailed. Quinn knew the truth because, apparently, Logan trusted her enough. He trusted her enough that night, on the way back to her dorm after her shift at the pub, to explained what he knew about the murder – and, more importantly, what he'd found out. _

"_My mother's adamant to keep the FBI out this as much as possible," he told her, his arm securing her to his side tight. "I do see her point. They're nothing but stubborn little nosey parkers."_

_Logan paused, as if to give her chance to add her opinion. He did this often, although Quinn had soon learnt that he never wanted it. After the third time of being rebuked for her opinion, Quinn had remained silent. Perhaps it was because she usually disagreed with him. This time, however, she agreed. When she'd met with the FBI, the Agent and his associate or consultant or whoever he was had done nothing but ask her what she knew about Logan's father. She'd only been in the same room with them for ten minutes, while they all waited for Logan to get out the shower to meet with them, but they'd already proved they were fearless. They'd asked question after question until Quinn had felt weak, knowing she was close to confessing._

"_She gave me the real reason eventually, though," he went on, pretending the silence hadn't happened, and she'd filled it with something worth-while. "It was her."_

"_What was?" Quinn found herself (stupidly) asking._

_Logan shuddered to a stop, turning to her with wide eyes. "Are you serious, Quinn? It was her. The whole heist," he explained, sighing as they began walking again. "I say heist but she saw it as reclaiming her belongings. He spent money from their joint account of Susie, idiot. She was bound to notice. Maybe that was what he wanted? We'll never know now, now she hired a hit man to kill them. She paid Williams and his men to do it. After all, professionals are harder to catch. But I'm still going to catch him."_

_Quinn blinked. "What?"_

_He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he repeated, "I'm going to catch my father's killer."_

_She knew him well enough now to know catch was code word for make pay. And the only way he could really do that was to kill him, just like he'd killed his father. The thought made Quinn shiver. She knew that what Logan did meant he was likely to get into crazy situations, that involved being threatened by guns and staring death in the face, but it was another thing for her to imagine him doing it. The idea of him having that much power over someone scared her._

_Suddenly, Quinn came out of her thoughts, realising with a jolt where they were. The park, about a block from her dorm – the longest way home. He'd never walked her back this way; the only reason Quinn knew it was there was through pure coincidence followed by returning there every few days, just to get alone and think. Logan had never mentioned knowing about the idyllic place, that in the dark looked menacing and not somewhere anyone should linger._

_Perfect for a secret meeting._

_Pulling them to a stop, Quinn squared on Logan, wrenching herself out of his grip. "Why are we here?"_

"_I thought Wiliams said we'd meet alone," a voice stated, seemingly just appearing on the path in front of them._

_At the time, he looked just like any other city business men; tall, slightly plump, dressed in a suit with a thick, dark coat to keep away the early winter chill. Quinn had seen hundreds of men just like him, each a client of Paul's – or simply an associate of his, someone in the underground business he knew. Even if he had had something unusual about him, Quinn woudn't have had chance to spot it. As soon as he'd appeared, Logan's right hand had finally come out of his pocket to reveal a loaded gun._

_As he pointed it at the man, Logan drawled, "Meeting you alone wouldn't change the fact I need to pay you back for my mother's little deal."_

_The man didn't even have time to open his mouth before Logan had fired the shot. She watched, frozen with shock, as the bullet hit the man squarely in the chest, breaking through his thick coat and smart suit. His eyes widened, locked on Logan as if he couldn't quite believe a man of twenty had done something no man should. Taking another's life was something only God, or whoever – or whatever – the higher form of power up in the sky was – could do. That control was so immense, it made Quinn feel sick as she watched the man slowly fall to his knees, dying before her eyes. _

_Before she knew what she was doing, she was running. It wasn't that far to her dorm, but still too far. No matter what the man had done, he hadn't deserved Logan's payment. Didn't that just make him as bad as Williams' men? Luckily, he'd still been breathing when she left, but she couldn't guarantee it to the 911 operators and the thought made her knees weak. _

_Quinn fell to the floor by the payphone and cried, thinking about the life that had been stolen. She didn't even know who he was, if he had a family, or a pet. Not until she was found by the police, later when she was numb from the cold. After that, everything was a blur. She was taken to the hospital, treated for shock and mild pneumonia before Neal Caffrey entered her life and flipped it upside down again._


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: So I did this stupid thing of basically finishing the story but never getting around to uploading the rest. The restart of White Collar stepped on my Coopinn feels and made me remember. I'm so sorry :s**

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"Are we done?"

Peter nodded, smiling sympathetically as he said softly, "Yeah, we're done."

Suddenly, Quinn found herself overcome by everything that had just come from her mouth. Letting the waves of words wash over her, she closed her eyes and tried to find solid ground. It didn't feel like it was there, now the platform of truths had been whipped out from under her. No matter what had happened, she'd had them there but now they were gone and she was falling. She wasn't sure if there was anything at the bottom to save her now.

"That's it," Peter added quietly, noticing she hadn't acknowledged what he'd said. "There's nothing more you can do."

"But I _could_ have done more," she replied, clenching her fists and taking a deep breath, angry at herself. "I knew this whole time and... And if I'd told you, I could have stopped… It didn't have to go that far, but it did – because _I_ let it."

"It's not uncommon, y'know," Peter assured her, sitting back down. "I've worked with so many people – more than I can remember – who've lied under oath or held back information because they're scared. Someone don't even come forward as witnesses; we have to find them. You did well even calling us and getting us involved. Getting scared happens to the best of us – even Neal. He couldn't face another four years in jail, so he offered to help us under my custody."

Quinn smiled softly. "That sounds like something Neal would do. Me, however… "

As Quinn sighed, Peter pulled a face, looking from her to the tape in his hands. Then, slowly, he reached across, onto the bed, and put it back in the recorder. With a frown, Quinn watched as he rewound over her statement and then turned to her, eyes firmly on her.

"That's the funny things about humans; we're built to error, to make mistakes – to lie and break the rules," he told her. "Everyone does it, again and again. About stupid things, like the price of something, and about serious things, like knowing who the murderer is… or about a cover for that person."

"I… I don't understand."

Peter smirked as he leant back in his seat. "I mean, who's to say I didn't send you and Neal undercover to unmask Williams and Davidson and it backfired."

Quinn found herself gaping at Peter, not believing what she was hearing. Perhaps she'd gotten it wrong, but it sounded awfully like he was suggesting that everything that she'd said be taken off the record and replaced by an altered truth. It was something she'd expect from Neal but definitely not Agent Peter Burke.

"I…" she began, not sure what she was going to say. "You've been spending too much time with Neal."

Peter smirked. "Is that a yes?"

She opened her mouth to give a resounding yes before stopping herself, eyes falling to the coin in her hand. "Can you get a new tape?" she blurted, pulling her gaze up to him. "I… I haven't told Neal the truth and I don't think… I don't think I can."

Peter nodded, removing it from the recorder and pocketing it. "Of course. I'll drop it in on my way back. Luckily, I brought a spare."

"I really didn't mean to make your job difficult," she apologised, watching as Peter loaded the new tape. "I just…"

"If my job was easy, I'd have retired by now," he told her, smirking as he sat back down and pressed play on the recorder. "Now, let's start at the beginning…"

Quinn took a deep breath and let her head roll back, knowing that this was going to be harder than the first statement. There had been times, after all, when she'd almost let the truth burst from her in the past month – times when she was weak enough to give into the fear. So when Peter had come by her hospital room, relief had swept through Quinn with every word she said, pleased to get it out at last. It was a huge weight off of her, even if a bleak darkness was what she faced.

Nothing would be the same again, she knew that. She'd crossed a line and now she faced whatever was on this side. No one knew what was, what was about to happen to her once she left the hospital. Jones had admitted there was talk of placing her in witness protection, as if wasn't clear if any other people Davidson knew were after her. Either way, going back to the New York Academy of Art was out of the question; she'd missed too much term time to catch up and she still didn't have any money.

Getting a fresh start was still on the cards, however. If she could figure out what to do with herself. Not knowing was one of the worst feelings. It's like being lost at sea; no idea how close or far you are to your destination, your path hazy and blinded by darkness. Quinn felt like she was surrounded by the night, lost, waiting for the sun.

Or the stars.

She hadn't thought about them for a long time. In the past, she'd always associated them with her roommate at NYAA, who quite liked astronomy and had an odd obsession with Galileo. Quinn only knew one thing about him, and that was he'd said "_I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night_". For some reason, the saying had held some power over her but now she understood. And with that understanding came realisation; she had loved the stars. In fact, she still did. At least, one star, no matter how much she'd tried to stop herself. So he'd help her through the darkness, just like he'd tried to from the start. She'd been holding onto a star from the moment Neal Caffrey (and his many alias) had entered her life.


	13. Chapter 13

The day before Quinn was released, she had an unexpected visitor.

She was asleep when she arrived, having spent most of the morning drifting in and out of consciousness, a side effect from her pain medication. At first, when she saw her, Quinn didn't full recognise a figure sat beside her – especially not who it was. Slowly, the woman came into focus and Quinn saw her ash blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. As she saw Quinn wake up, she smiled softly, as if not sure it was the appropriate reaction to give a stranger. But for some reason she looked slightly familiar. Quinn was sure she should remember her name…

"Hello," the woman greeted softly, shifting slightly in her chair as Quinn frowned at her. "I hope it's okay I came to see you. Mozzie seemed to think it would be a good idea."

"Mozzie?"

"Yes, he…" she trailed off, licking her lips before starting again. "My name's Ellen. I – well, without going into too much boring detail, I basically raised Neal."

"Oh," was all Quinn could think to say in reply.

Neal had mentioned her before, at their dinner, when nothing had been off-limits. He'd told her he'd never really known his parents, especially his father. Quinn hadn't asked why, but she had presumed it was simply because his parents had been big city business people, too busy to look after their son and thus left him in the care of a nanny, of Ellen. But now, meeting and seeing Ellen, Quinn knew that was far from the truth. There was a sorrow in her eyes, a sorrow she fully recognised. It was the look of a someone who'd been caught up in criminal acts before, and had been burnt from it. If she was going to tell Quinn about it, she didn't need to. Quinn knew. But still she sat and waited for her to continue.

"He doesn't know I'm here," Ellen went on, and a small mischievous smirk slipped onto her face. "He's not spoken to me at all about what happened. Mozzie has, however, and he thought it would be a good idea for me to come and perhaps explain his distance."

Quinn felt herself blush. "Oh, no, you don't – it's okay, I – "

"I've heard a lot about you, Quinn," she cut in, smiling softly now, "all the good and bad things you've told Neal. Every single one was said with awe in his voice. He likes you. He likes you enough to tell you about me. There are few people in his life that know about me, about his past. I'd probably estimate at three, excluding myself obviously and including you."

Quinn frowned, looking at Ellen as she sat up properly. "Really?"

She nodded. "I'm the part of Neal that he keeps hidden. I'm his past. I'm the woman who practically raised him until he was eighteen," she informed her. "Neal's never really known his parents. His father was my partner. We were police officers, but James… James was corrupt. I arrested him when he was found with the body of a murdered cop, his prints on the gun used. He was two when his mother, him and I were placed in witness protection. Soon after, everything got too much for his mother, leaving me with Neal."

"Neal 's never really known his parents?" she echoed, everything suddenly slotting into place. "No wonder he was interested in how much Beth saw and knew about us."

Ellen smiled softly. "It was when he found out about his father, he left. Meeting you and finding out about your daughter, I think it affected him quite a bit. I think he's thought about how hard it must have been for his mother, someone he previously hated, bringing up a small child alone in difficult circumstances. He's seen how you've struggled, even though you've given your daughter up, and thought about what she must have gone through."

Quinn felt herself shaking her head. "No, what happened with me and Beth… it's nothing like Neal and his mother. I gave her away because – "

" – it was the best for your child," she finished, sighing. "No, what happened with Neal's mother isn't the same. At all. His mother didn't do it willingly. She was selfish; she thought about herself and not about Neal. After months of self-destructive behaviour, she just disappeared. No one knows where she went, or why. She just left. No note, nothing. At the time for Neal, it was an act he despised. Of course, now he's met you and seen how a mother is more than just that – she's a person, someone who has her own life. Of course, the adoption of Beth isn't the same as what happened to him, but he understands it more now – perhaps enough to forgive her, I don't know.

"But it still happened, and your abduction scared him more than he's willing to let on. Because it reminded him of his mother's disappearance. He's still pretty shaken. He nearly lost you. That's why he's so distant right now. He's trying to come to terms with how close he was to loosing you, just like he lost her – not because he doesn't want anything to do with you, now he knows your past. No, he understands what it's like to have a past you're ashamed of."

Quinn licked her lips, letting herself absorb this and daring to ask, "Do you know when he'll…"

Ellen shook her head. "No. It'll take time, but that could be weeks or days. But when he's ready, he'll find you. Just like he found you that morning. Just like he found you the other night. He'll find you because he needs you. You're a star, Quinn Fabray, and he needs to hold onto stars."


End file.
